I Want to be a Dancer!

Tonight is my son's spring show and preschool graduation. He's not pulling a Doogie Howser and finishing preschool two years early or anything. Just graduating from the 2yo class to the 3yo class. But regardless, there's a show. A show where they sing and...well, sort of dance.

Wyatt has been talking about the show nonstop. He has shown me his beloved stage (in the sanctuary of the church where his preschool is located) on multiple occasions. His teachers told me he learned the songs faster than the other kids and that he sings at full volume when everyone else kind of mumbles along in typical preschool fashion. It has occurred to me that when I tell him he's a rock star for using the potty in the proper way that he may actually believe that he is, in fact, a ROCK STAR. Or, you know, a cast member of Glee.

Part of me is thrilled. After all, I was a complete ham as a kid. I was the obnoxious child in the chorus who'd purposely mess up choreography because I knew everyone would look at me whether they wanted to or not. ATTENTION, PLEASE! Look at ME! I starred in my first school musical when I was in the 4th grade. I liked the spotlight. A LOT. So, naturally, seeing a little of me in him warms my heart.

On the other hand, I'll admit to the cliched sit-com theme. We're a red blooded American family. My husband played football. There's a certain assumption that Wyatt will be a jock. I know it's a stereotypical dilemma, but it's ours nonetheless. What if our son doesn't want to be just like his dad? What if he wants to be an actor? Or (gasp) a writer? (A blogger? Oh, heavens, no!) What if he gets his dad's broad shoulders and my family's height, and then he uses them on the stage instead of in the NFL?

Or worse; what if he goes into SALES?